


The Boy and the Wolf

by KaliopeShipsIt



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 19th Century, Abusive Kate Argent, Alternate Universe - Dark, Bottom Derek Hale, Dark Stiles Stilinski, Depressed Derek Hale, Feral Stiles Stilinski, Human Derek Hale, Knotting, M/M, Mpreg, Orphan Derek Hale, Past Character Death, Pregnant Derek Hale, Rape/Non-con Elements, So be warned, Stiles loves Derek very much, Top Stiles Stilinski, Traumatized Stiles Stilinski, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, burning at the stake, but Stiles is also pretty dark in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-04 21:16:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16354457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaliopeShipsIt/pseuds/KaliopeShipsIt
Summary: The wolf is a beast. An abomination. A demon sent from hell to devour his soul.And still, Derek cannot stop thinking about him, his hands trailing down his body, going lower and lower, until they’re wrapped around his hardness.It’s wrong. Forbidden. A sin against the lord and treason against his people.Derek can't get enough.A Feral Werewolf Stiles/HumanDerek!Mpreg Dark!Fic Fairy Tale





	The Boy and the Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> Originally, this was supposed to be a 2K fluffy, fairy-tale style crack!fic of human Stiles meeting a handsome wolf in the forest, getting pregnant, and living happily ever after with his wolf. 
> 
> Then, I threw this idea at FicLogia and she was like "Buuuuuuuuuut wouldn't it be interesting to see Stiles in a role that you'd normally automatically write Derek in?" (also, she's as much as a slut for Derek!mpreg as I am, so she's always going to steer me on that path, hah). 
> 
> Anyway, thanks to a very long train ride, 2K turned into 11.5K, fairy tale fluff turned into original Grimm's fairy tale dark-fic, snarky human Stiles turned into broken human Derek and growly fluffy werewolf Derek turned into seriously messed up dark shit werewolf Stiles (like, seriously messed up. You'll catch his backstory by reading between the lines and it's tragic, I'm warning you right now).
> 
> I hope I put all the warnings in the tags, but if I forgot anything, please let me know :).
> 
> I might still write the Stiles!mpreg fluff take on this idea at some point. But for now, enjoy my first foray into dark!fic, my lovelies!

The first time Derek sees the wolf, he’s sure he’s going to die.

One minute he’s walking through the woods, the next he’s flat on his back, the breath punched out of his lungs from the heavy impact of the wolf’s body.

Derek can’t see much of the wolf, but what he does see is enough to further his conviction.

The wolf’s fangs are sharp and his eyes are blood red, his face contorted into a gruesome caricature of a man.

He’s snarling and growling, his claws digging deep into Derek’s shoulders and his fangs snapping right over Derek’s face, spit trickling onto Derek’s chin.

Derek closes his eyes, a warm feeling of peace spreading over him when he thinks about Mama.

Papa.

Laura and Cora.

It’s been almost five years since the fire that killed his entire family, leaving him orphaned at the age of fourteen.

Five miserable, lonely years, and Derek has dragged himself through life ever since, his heart breaking a little more each morning upon waking up to the realization that he’s survived to live yet another day.

He has nothing left to live for, no one to go back to, and when the beast’s warm breath gusts over his face he welcomes his death, longing to be with his family again.

There’s no one in the village to miss him, no one to genuinely mourn his passing, and he smiles softly, inviting the pain to come and ready to be reunited with his loved ones.

The pain doesn’t come.

Instead, a cold nose is suddenly touching his cheek, snuffling and nudging.

Surprisingly soft lips touch the vulnerable expanse of his throat, just a hint of fang pressing against the easily breakable skin.

The snarling stops and the growling loses its threatening quality, softening to a sound that is almost like a cat’s purr.

The claws retract from Derek’s shoulders and there’s a soft whine when Derek hisses against the pain, feeling the blood pour down his chest.

A moment later, a warm tongue is lapping at the wounds, gently and comfortingly, a silent plea for forgiveness.

Confusion makes Derek open his eyes, bringing him face to face with the beast once more.

He still looks terrifying, but his expression has changed completely.

Gone is the feral look in his eyes, the homicidal curl of his lips, and the bloodthirsty tension in his face.

There’s tension, still, but it is of worry and sadness, all previous aggression gone and forgotten.

“Who are you?” Derek wants to ask, but his dry mouth cannot form the words, his heart beating rapidly inside his chest as he’s fully realizing the situation he’s in.

The wolf-beast makes a soothing sound, patting Derek’s chest with gentle hands, his claws kept carefully away from the skin.

 _He looks almost human,_ Derek thinks in a daze, allowing the beast to pull him upright.

His eyes are still glowing red and there’s a hint of fang peeking through luscious, full lips, his ears are long and pointy, and he’s got hair sprouting off the sides of his face.

His chin is smooth though, almost as if shaven, there are moles dotting his cheeks and the sides of his mouth, and his nose is almost adorable upturned.

 _He’d be beautiful,_ Derek thinks, beautiful if it weren’t for the monstrous ridges distorting his forehead and the upper part of his nose, the bulges of bone where his eyebrows should be.   

He’s lean and tall, maybe just a hint shorter than Derek.

His legs are thick and hairy, his shoulders are broad and his hairy arms are strong and muscular.

His chest and stomach are firm, his upper half surprisingly smooth but his lower half covered in a thick trail of dark hair, leading down to an unruly patch that surrounds the most terrifying cock Derek’s ever laid eyes on.

It’s long and thick, large in every sense of the word, hanging over an equally impressive set of balls and twitching when the beast notices Derek’s gaze.

He’s … _excited,_ Derek realizes, his breath catching in his throat as the watches the wolf’s cock plump up, until it’s straining against the beast’s firm belly.

Derek knows what’s about to happen, his gut clenching in fear and his heart trying to burst out of his throat.

The beast surprises him yet again, however, taking a step back and giving Derek space, his head cocked to the side, as if listening to Derek’s galloping heart.

 _He probably is,_ Derek thinks, wrapping his arms around his body and shielding himself from the beast’s piercing gaze.

The wolf lets out a soft, mournful howl, his eyes big and so very red as he stares at Derek, almost like a silent plea.

He holds up one clawed hand, then turns it palm-side up, offering it to Derek in a gesture of … friendship?

Affection?

Intention?

Derek isn’t sure and he’s definitely not going to take the beast up on whatever it is he’s offering.

He’s not.

He’s still telling himself that when the beast presses a gentle kiss to the soft skin of his wrist, right over the thrumming pulse of Derek’s abused heart.

 

===================

 

 

Derek doesn’t tell anyone about his encounter in the woods.

A part of him thinks that he should, if only to warn the other villagers that they’re living near a dangerous predator.

Because the wolf _is_ dangerous, Derek is certain of that, has seen the darkness in the wolf’s eyes and felt it in the claws piercing his skin.

The wolf attacked to kill him, Derek knows without a shadow of a doubt.

He _would_ have killed him without remorse, had he not been stopped by something that Derek has yet to grasp.

 _I really should tell the elders,_ Derek thinks as he limps back home after a long, hard day of work in the fields, his back, arms, and feet hurting from straining his body for fourteen hours straight.

He thinks about the wolf as he enters Uncle Peter’s cottage, the place he’s not been able to call a ‘home’ ever since his only surviving relative took him in five years ago.

He thinks about the wolf as he strips off his clothes and lies down on the heap of rags he’s using as a bed, located in a corner of the kitchen.

Peter is not a cruel man, per se, but he’s cold and distant, barely ever speaks to Derek and lets him know through action and looks that he considers him a burden.

A responsibility, thrust upon him through the bonds of blood.

At nineteen, Derek should be thinking about getting his own cottage, getting married and continuing the legacy of the Hale family.

There’s no one in town who can fill the void in his heart, though, and Derek does not want to condemn an innocent woman to his darkness by marrying her and subjecting her to a lifetime of sadness, a lifetime of feeling like she’ll never be enough.

So he ignores Uncle Peter’s increasing frustration on the subject, and he especially ignores his uncle’s hints to spend a bit more time with Kate Argent, the only daughter of the wealthiest man in town.

Kate has taken an interest in Derek, the entire town knows about it, but Derek can barely stand her presence, let alone entertain the thought of letting her put her hands on him.

There’s something harsh in her eyes that makes his skin go cold, there’s something vicious in the curl of her lips that makes him feel nauseous, and he knows she’ll only make the darkness inside of him worse, so he keeps resisting his uncle’s attempts to marry him off.

The Argents are a family of hunters, have kept the villagers safe for generation after generation.

They have kept them safe from pillagers, mercenaries, and the occasional beast that has crawled up from the depth of hell, an abomination in the eyes of the lord.

No one talks about it, really, but everyone knows they exist, an army of unholy creatures terrifying enough to make even the strongest man whimper at their sight.

Derek knows he should probably tell the Argents about the wolf-man, let them know the village might be in grave danger once again.

He cannot bear the thought of Kate getting her hands on the wolf either, though, wants to protect the wolf from her cold eyes almost as much as he wants to protect himself.

He doesn’t dwell too much on these feelings, aware that they are bordering on the blasphemous.

The wolf is a beast, an abomination, a creature from hell sent to devour his soul.

A monster whose only aim is to maim, kill, and corrupt others with its darkness.

And still, Derek cannot stop thinking about gentle fingers caressing the wounds on his shoulders, the soft whines of apology.

The tender flick of a tongue over his cheek, more a question than a demand.

Derek’s hands start trailing down his body, going lower and lower, until they’re wrapped around his hardness.

It’s wrong.

The wolf is a _man,_ for one, the sex that Derek conjures in his mind a pulsating shaft, rather than a glistening mound and soft folds.

The wolf is a _beast_ as well, an unholy perversion of the natural order.

It is forbidden, in more ways than one, but Derek can’t stop thinking about him, his strokes becoming more desperate.

He muffles the sob of his release with his other hand, hopes to the gods his uncle didn’t hear.

The beast comes to him in his dreams that night.

Just as he’s done every night since Derek met him.

 

 

====================

 

 

Derek doesn’t mean to seek out the beast again.

He doesn’t.

It’s a complete coincidence that carries him to the exact same spot the wolf attacked him the last time, almost twenty minutes past the border markers of the village.

When he’s reached the spot he sits down on the grass and waits, breathing in the fresh forest air and enjoying the last gleams of sunlight.

His eyes are closed, so he doesn’t see the wolf approach, his steps soundless on the forest floor.

Derek startles when he opens his eyes again to find the wolf hovering right in front of him, crouched down and looking at him intently.

His expressive face is displaying many emotions, shock, confusion, hopefulness, and Derek smiles at him, fully aware that he might have completely misjudged the situation.

That the wolf might still kill him.

He doesn’t though.

Instead, he inches closer, until his clawed hands are lightly caressing Derek’s thighs.

Derek spreads his legs a little, inviting the wolf in, and the wolf takes the invitation, kneeling right in front of him and sniffing, his gaze flitting back and forth between Derek’s lips and his throat.

Derek holds his gaze as he tilts his head, exposing his jugular to a predator.

The beast lets out a surprised huff that could also be delight and then he’s sniffing Derek’s throat, a broad tongue coming out to lap at various spots.

The wolf’s lips are suckling on Derek’s skin and the human can once more feel the tantalizing press of fangs, making his heart speed up.

The wolf pulls back, letting out a concerned huff, and Derek doesn’t think, grasps the wolf’s head and pulls him back in.

He freezes as soon as he’s realized what he’s done and the wolf joins him in his shocked paralysis, both of them breathing heavily for a moment.

Then, the wolf becomes a lot more daring in his approach of Derek’s body, hands rubbing up and down Derek’s thighs, his belly, his chest, grasping his arms and pulling him in closer.

“Who _are_ you?” Derek murmurs, and he’s not sure if he’s imagining things but the wolf’s answering huff seems almost regretful, as if he’d love to tell Derek his name but can’t.

He growls a little, huffs once more, and Derek realizes he cannot speak, even if the wolf’s red eyes seem to be writing him a novel of thoughts and desires.

The silence is comforting though, interrupted by the occasional suckle and hitched breath, and Derek loses himself to it, the turmoil in his heart and head finally quiet.

 

 

===========

 

 

Derek lasts two days until he seeks out the wolf next.

His heart is pounding in anticipation rather than fear when he steps into the meadow and finds the wolf already waiting for him, partially hidden in the shadow of the trees, his eyes glowing red and giving him away.

This time, the wolf doesn’t wait for an invitation, his hands on Derek as soon as he’s stepped within reach.

The wolf presses his nose against Derek’s throat and lets out a contented purr, his strong arms hooking under Derek’s rear and lifting him up, pressing him against a tree.

Derek’s stomach might be concave from malnourishment and sorrow, but he is not a light man, his arms, legs, and chest toned and muscular from years of hard labor on the fields.

The wolf doesn’t even break a sweat though, holding Derek up with seemingly no effort at all on his part and never stopping his tongue’s exploration of Derek’s neck and face.

He doesn’t kiss him, maybe doesn’t dare, with his fangs proudly jutting from his mouth.

Derek longs for him to do so, though, to take the risk and break down every last barrier between them.

He wraps his arms around the wolf’s shoulders and rocks into him as best he can, desperately needing the friction against his hardness.

The wolf obliges him, adjusts his hold on Derek so that he can support him with one arm.

Then he’s grasping both of their cocks together, rubbing them against each other as he begins to pump.

Derek muffles his cry in the wolf’s shoulder, getting a little dizzy off of the sweet mixture of the wolf’s hand on him and his smell right in Derek’s nose, a combination of sweat, musk, woods, and something clear and crisp, almost like the air after a good summer rain.

The wolf lets out a gasp when Derek turns his head just so, buries his own nose in the crook of the human’s neck.

He can feel the wolf’s fangs on his throat, digging into the skin, but then the wolf tears his head back and howls, yanks up Derek’s shirt and spills his release on Derek’s belly, pushing the human right over the edge.

Derek is panting softly when the wolf lets him down, his legs a little unsteady after his powerful orgasm.

The wolf looks a little worse for wear, heaving gasping breaths and his eyes blown wide open, his mouth parted, and his fangs seeming larger than ever.

He stares at Derek like he wants to swallow him whole, like he wants to take him inside and keep him forever.

For a moment, Derek thinks about letting him.

Then, the wolf steps back, shakes his head as if to clear it.

He hesitates, looks at Derek’s messy stomach, both of their come already drying on his skin.

His tongue darts out, as if he wants to lick it off, and Derek is more than willing to let him, pulls up his shirt higher for good measure.

The wolf’s expression shifts, then, the dazed look in his eyes completely gone and replaced by something a lot more serious.

 _A warning,_ Derek thinks, his stomach lurching painfully when the wolf takes a step back, holds up his hands and doesn’t stop staring at Derek.

A warning not to get too close, a warning to stay away.

It’s too late, though.

Derek hasn’t allowed himself to get close to something for five very painful years and he’s not going to go back to that pitiful shell of an existence.

No.

He is not.

 

==================

 

 

“I truly wish I knew your name,” Derek tells the wolf three weeks later, after he’s finally gotten his breath back.

They’re lying in the grass of the meadow, the wolf’s warmth a soothing blanket on this uncharacteristically chilly night in early summer.

It’s been almost two months since Derek first met the wolf and he still doesn’t know anything about him, other than that his touch makes Derek feel cared for and his strength makes Derek feel safe, safer than he’s felt in a very long time.

The more he seeks out the wolf, the harder it becomes for Derek to stay away, but it’s getting a bit more difficult now, with the days getting longer and longer and the temperatures rising, drawing the villagers into the woods and making it harder for Derek to slip away undetected.

Three nights later, the wolf hands Derek a cloth, torn, and dirty, but clearly much appreciated, having been sown back together multiple times.

It’s a handkerchief, Derek realizes, the fabric exquisite and undoubtedly expensive, the stitching intricate and elaborate.

There’s a name on it and the wolf points at it, his finger trembling a little as Derek reads it out.

“Stiles.”

Derek looks up at the shudder that goes through the wolf, as if he hasn’t heard that name in a very long time.

“Stiles? Is that your name?”

The wolf nods, not looking at Derek, and his broad shoulders are suddenly drawing together, making him appear small and almost childlike.

It’s a child’s handkerchief, Derek suddenly realizes, a gift bestowed upon a much beloved baby.

He looks at the wolf – _Stiles_ – more closely, takes in the graceful way he carries himself, the smooth shave of his chin, as if he’d been taught how to when he was younger and can’t let the habit go.

Derek doesn’t know much about the wolf-men and wolf-women who roam the lands and terrorize the villages, but he does know that all of them were human once, human until one fateful encounter that turned them into ravaging beasts.

He wonders how old Stiles was when he turned, wonders how long he’s been on his own, wonders if he can even remember the boy he was before at all.

There’s blood on the handkerchief, too, and Derek’s heart twists when he wonders if it belonged to the boy turned wolf or the gentle hands that once used it to wipe away a little boy’s tears.

He knows that most wolves turn on their families first, pushing their minds beyond the brink of sanity and redemption forever.

It should frighten him, Derek muses, his eyes fixed on the wolf’s tense shoulders.

He should feel repulsed at the thought that the very hands that brought him to pleasure just moments ago likely killed the people who loved him the most, an unforgiveable act committed in a frenzy of uncontrollable bloodlust.

He should be repulsed because he knows that these very hands have kept killing, since, adding to the darkness he can so clearly sense inside his beloved, lonely wolf.

Some nights, the wolf’s flat belly is still a little bloated from his last meal, the corners of his mouth bloody, and Derek should probably worry if it’s human or animal blood, should have come to his senses weeks ago and fled.

Stiles keeps avoiding his gaze and Derek suddenly knows the wolf is expecting him to do just that, now that he’s shared the very evidence of his damnation with Derek.

“Stiles,” Derek whispers, careful folding the cloth and taking the wolf’s clenched hands, peeling his fingers apart until he can place his most prized possession back where it belongs.

“Stiles,” Derek whispers again, lying back into the grass and tilting his head back, leaving his vulnerable belly and neck completely exposed.

Derek holds the wolf’s startled gaze as he grasps the waistband of his britches, pushes them down in a jerky motion.

He’s wanted to do so for weeks now, has never quite mustered up the courage to ask for it, but now he needs to feel the wolf as close as he possibly can, wants to return the trust the wolf has just bestowed upon him by revealing his name.

The wolf whines, his eyes wounded and wanting, and Derek pulls him in, wraps his arms around him, holds him tight until the wolf is no longer shaking, until his hardness is nudging against Derek’s entrance.

“Stiles. Please,” Derek whispers, reaching up to press a kiss against the wolf’s clenched lips.

“Please. Please.”

Stiles lets out a shuddering gasp of air, his eyes squeezing shut as he ducks his head into the crook of Derek’s head and inhales.

Then, his hardness is nudging against Derek’s hole with more insistence, a pressing sensation that soon turns painful.

Derek lets out a soft whimper and the wolf stops immediately, seeking out his eyes with that unbearably tender expression of concern.

“Please,” Derek repeats, his voice breaking into a sob when the wolf presses in further, breaching the last barrier between them.

It hurts.

It really, really hurts and Derek should push the wolf away, away, away, his breathing becoming ragged as the pain becomes sharper, getting worse with each little thrust.

Derek bites his lips until he can taste blood, the pain getting so bad he almost passes out when Stiles is finally buried completely inside of him.

There are hands patting all over his face and chest, a silent plea to say he’s alright, and Derek smiles at the wolf through his tears, trying to reassure him that he’s never been happier even though he’s also never been in this much physical pain.

“Come on,” he urges brokenly, not sure why he needs the wolf to move but knowing that he’ll combust without it.

The wolf begins to thrust with more force behind it, his hands now framing Derek’s face and holding him still, anchoring him through the powerful sensations that are threatening to overwhelm him.

The pain is there until it isn’t, until Derek cries out for a very different reason, all of his nerve endings suddenly aflame and his back arching off the ground.

Stiles thrusts again and Derek cries out once more, pleasure tingling all the way down to his toes, his stomach tightening and his cock dripping.

The wolf lets out a pleased grunt and then he stops holding back, pounding into Derek with full abandon.

Derek cries and cries and cries, right until stars explode behind his eyes.

He’s coming, then, moaning louder than he’s ever done before, and Stiles lets out a groan of his own, thrusting into him three more times before he pumps his own release deep inside Derek.

He doesn’t stop coming and Derek suddenly feels a tug at his rim, an almost unbearable pressure as Stiles’ cock seems to expand beyond that which should be physically possible.

Derek whimpers and the wolf shushes him, presses close-lipped kisses all over Derek’s face, very careful not to break his skin with his fangs.

Derek feels fuller than he’s ever felt before and he loves it, the painful sensations slowly fading into the background as he’s flooded with warmth and happiness.

Stiles collapses on top of him after he’s stopped coming, his arms shaking and his chest heaving against Derek’s.

Derek gently cards his fingers through Stiles’ silky hair, rubs his back comfortingly and whispers shushing sounds of his own.

He should be freaking out, probably, not only because he’s just lost his virginity to a wolf-man but also because it is obvious that the wolf couldn’t move away from him even if he wanted to.

Eventually, the wolf’s cock goes back to its normal size and he pulls out, leaving Derek strangely empty.

He can still feel Stiles inside of him later that night, when he’s curled up on his pile of rags and is trying to fall asleep.

 

==================

 

 

The days get warmer, the work on the field gets harder, the village becomes lively at night, and Derek starts becoming a little reckless.

He knows the people will start gossiping about him sooner rather than later.

That he should at least make an attempt to join them as they come together in the village center after a long day of hard work, drinking and feasting and enjoying the spoils of the summer, trying to pack enough meat onto their bones to withstand the harsh conditions of winter.

Every night not spent with the wolf is agony to Derek, though, every moment he’s not entangled in Stiles embrace a waking nightmare.

The wolf still doesn’t speak, solidifying Derek’s belief that he must have been turned at a very young age, stunned into forever silence by the horrors that came after.

However, Derek’s never felt this close to him, more than satisfied with their silent conversations, carried on mostly through Stiles’ expressive glowing red eyes.

He wants to be with his wolf always and being apart from him is becoming more and more difficult to endure.

The chattering of the village girls and the boasting of the village boys begins to annoy him, his uncle’s no longer subtle demands for him to marry make his blood boil, and Kate Argent’s eyes on him make his skin crawl more than ever, almost make him feel physically nauseous.

On the nights on which he cannot get away, Kate is all over him, whispering sweet promises into his ear that Derek knows she’s never going to keep.

Stiles despises her hands on Derek as much as Derek does himself, that much is perfectly clear in the wolf’s growls and snarls when he drags his nose over every single spot that Kate has touched, lapping and licking until every last trace of her is gone.

He thrusts into him with more force than usual on these nights, as if to remind Derek that this is where he belongs.

Derek holds on for dear life every time, not really needing the reminders but appreciating them just the same.

It’s still painful, sometimes, especially when Stiles is too impatient and moves too fast, but Derek’s getting used to the sensation of Stiles’ cock inside of him, opening up with more ease now and taking him so wholly and completely his body sings with the pleasure of it all.

As June draws to a close, Derek even imagines himself getting wet for Stiles, like a woman does for her husband, and Stiles starts sliding in much more smoothly, the two of them rocking in perfect unison under the glow of the moon and stars.

Not that Stiles is his husband or could ever be, Derek shouldn’t even be engaging in such foolish thoughts.

He’s seen people burned at the stake for less offensive transgressions and he’s very sure that his fate would be sealed if anyone ever found out about what he does in the woods at night.

Not to mention _whom_ he does it with.

It’s a nice thought, though, a comforting thought that makes Derek feel warm and loved and that he embraces with everything he has, indulging in it when he’s sleeping in Stiles’ arms and when he’s curled up on his pile of rags.

July goes by quickly and suddenly it’s August, a busy season on the fields.

This year, Derek finds himself struggling more than usually, the unforgiving heat making him feel faint and weak, black spots dancing in front of his eyes whenever he gets up too quickly or carries a particularly heavy load.

He’s so tired at night that he doesn’t even think about going to Stiles, and when he sees his wolf next it’s almost been a week, longer than they’ve been apart ever since they met.

Stiles is all over him the second he steps into the clearing, his hands on him frantic, his growls urgent, and his eyes wounded.

“I’m sorry,” Derek whispers, opening his arms and pulling the wolf in, allowing him to draw comfort from his scent.

The wolf takes longer than usually, his rigged forehead scrunched up in a little frown as he pulls back.

Derek was expecting Stiles to take him like he’s drowning, but Stiles surprises him, moves inside him gently and carefully, his hands caressing Derek’s cheeks and that little frown never quite disappearing from his face.

The frown is still there when Derek goes to see him two days later, deepening when the wolf traces the dark shadows under Derek’s eyes.

The frown turns into a full-blown grimace of worry when Derek drags himself into the woods to see the wolf after a four day break, the majority of which he’s spent curled over the chamber pot and retching his guts out.

His stomach is still rolling with every step he takes and Derek knows he’s deathly pale by the time he makes it to the meadow, collapsing into the wolf’s waiting arms with a little groan.

The wolf gently lays him down, lets out little whimpers as he nuzzles Derek’s face and neck.

Stiles whines as he gently caresses Derek’s upset stomach, which is more concave than ever after four straight days of being unable to eat.

Derek has never seen Stiles so distressed, his whines constant and getting higher pitched the more he sniffs and nuzzles, a mixture of giving comfort and trying to find the source, desperate to make him whole again.

Stiles lets out a particularly sorrowful whimper when his fingers trace over Derek’s prominent hip-bones, his nose pressing right in between, just below Derek’s navel.

He stays there for a very long time, sniffing, and licking, nuzzling and mouthing, his shoulders a tense line and his grip on Derek’s waist getting almost painful.

Suddenly, he draws in a harsh breath, his head rearing back so quickly Derek is certain he must have given himself whiplash.

When he looks back at Derek his eyes are wide, so impossible wide.

He’s afraid, more afraid than Derek has ever seen him.

It startles Derek, frightens him, makes the nausea get just that much worse.

Stiles lets out a whine that comes as close to a sob as Derek has ever heard him make and then he’s pressing close-lipped kisses all over Derek’s stomach, barely stopping for breath.

He’s shivering, whimpering, and crying when he pulls Derek into a tight embrace, his shoulders shaking under Derek’s touch.

Stiles lets out garbled sounds that almost but not quite resemble speech, punctuated by frustrated little growls and upset whines, as if he’s never wanted to regain his voice more urgently than he does right now.

The wolf wants to tell him something, desperately wants to tell him something, and Derek wishes he could, has no idea how to soothe his upset lover.

Tears run down the wolf’s furry cheeks and Derek knows deep down that he’s apologizing to him, even if he has no idea what for.

“It’s okay,” he soothes, wiping the wolf’s tears away and kissing him.

“I’ll be fine. It’s okay,” he repeats, over and over, until the wolf finally stops crying, letting out little hitching breaths instead.

 _It’s not okay,_ his gaze says, communicating with Derek more clearly than he’s ever been able to.

And it might not be, for all Derek knows, figuring that, just like a dog can sense a human’s impending death, the wolf might know more about Derek’s illness than Derek wants to face right now.

Half a year ago, the thought of his impending death would have been a sweet release.

Now though … now Derek feels sad for the man he’ll leave behind.

 

 

====================

 

 

Derek … doesn’t die, exactly.

The opposite, actually.

His illness goes away eventually and Derek is left feeling stronger and healthier than ever, brimming with energy and glowing with happiness.

He doesn’t really know why he’s feeling so happy, all he knows is that he’s craving Stiles’ touch more than ever before and the wolf man doesn’t disappoint, barely lets go of him for a second whenever they are together.

September passes in a whirlwind of kisses, caresses, and the harvest, and at the beginning of October Derek’s almost forgotten about the strange bout of sickness that plagued him at the end of summer.

Stiles definitely hasn’t though, a fact that becomes obvious through the almost obsessive caresses to Derek’s middle, the soft kisses and gentle licks he places on Derek’s stomach every chance he gets, as if to constantly remind himself that Derek is well again.

“I’m fine, see?” Derek tells him one night, laughing and patting his no longer concave belly, cupping the soft swell right below his navel.

He’s not sure how he managed to put on weight after all but he’s grateful for it, knows that it’ll protect him when the great sickness comes later in the year, the cursed cough that tends to go for the weak, the old, and the small.

Stiles lets outs a strange mixture between a growl and a purr, a deeply satisfied sound that he’s been making more and more frequently in the past couple of weeks.

He gently lifts Derek’s hand away and goes right back to loving on Derek’s middle and Derek leans back with a little laugh, enjoying the sensations and basking in the last sunlight of the day.

The harvest is over at the end of October and Derek forces himself to attend the village’s festivities to celebrate the end of the season, even though he wants nothing more than to feel Stiles deep inside of him.

It’s almost strange how much he’s been craving his wolf physically, lately, his arousal a constant thrumming deep inside his belly.

Not getting his hands on his wolf makes him irritable, until he barely avoids snapping at the town elder who chastises him for dropping a bowl during the feast.

Gerard Argent gives him a piercing look, his eyes dark and filled with rejection.

He doesn’t like Derek, the young man knows, hasn’t liked him ever since his only daughter first showed an interest in Derek.

Derek is not a desirable match by any means, has no money, no family connections, and his only surviving relative has a questionable reputation of drinking and sleeping with the married women in town.

Derek doesn’t pay much attention to these rumors, but he’d be an idiot to deny that there’s at least one bastard running around the village, a girl not much younger than Derek with Peter’s eyes and perpetually smirking mouth.

If it was up to Derek, Kate would listen to her father and choose another victim of her affections, but the huntress seems dead set on making Derek hers, ignoring every single one of his hints to the contrary.

She corners Derek at the harvest festival, catching him in an unguarded moment as he’s trying to decide between another piece of bread or one of the rare sugary treats the baker has provided for the occasion.

Derek tenses when she wraps her arms around him, her entire front pressed against Derek’s back.

“Take the cake,” she whispers into his ear, her fingers roaming over the beginnings of a little potbelly and cupping it with both hands, as if to test its weight.

“I need my future husband to be big and strong to last the winter,” she tells him, her hands drifting lower until she’s cupping an entirely different part of him, half-hard because that’s what he always is, these days.

“Oh! Is that for me?” Kate breathes seductively, her hands rubbing up and down Derek’s length and her lips pressing against his neck, right where Stiles licked him two nights ago.

It’s wrong.

Wrong, wrong, _wrong_!

Derek doesn’t think, doesn’t consider the impact of his actions, he just knows he needs to get away and so he does, pushes her off of him and runs.

He runs and runs and runs, until his sides ache and his breath is ragged, until his forehead bleeds because he’s no longer paying attention to the path, his skin tearing and breaking when he gets too close to the low hanging branches.

He’s only a few minutes away from the clearing when there’s a mighty roar and then Stiles is flying through the trees toward him, catching him just as Derek stumbles over a branch and almost face plants on the cold ground.

Stiles is snarling and growling and his expression is even more homicidal than it was on the day that Derek first met the wolf, spit flying from his mouth and his entire body thrumming with rage.

“I’m okay,” Derek gasps out, even though he feels anything but, and Stiles roars again, clearly calling him out on the lie.

The wolf starts sniffing all over him, his snarling becoming vicious when he presses his nose against Derek’s belly, following Kate’s trailing hands all the way down to Derek’s now completely flaccid dick.

Stiles looks up at Derek and there’s murder in his eyes, so Derek grabs his face with both hands and shakes it, forces him to listen.

“No! Don’t! She’s not … I can’t lose you, okay? She’s a hunter’s daughter, from a long established hunter family! If you harm her they’ll … I can’t lose you, alright? I can’t … I can’t …”

The wolf catches Derek once more when his knees give out, picks him up and carries him deeper into the woods, past their clearing, to a place where the moonlight doesn’t break through the trees and everything is silent.

Derek holds on to Stiles, pressing his face into the wolf’s throat and trying to calm himself through the wolf’s familiar scent.

Stiles doesn’t stop until he’s reached a cave, located at least half an hour’s walk from the clearing.

He carries Derek inside and carefully places him on the ground, covered in leafs and the fabric of old clothes, the origins of which Derek doesn’t want to think about.

It’s surprisingly comfortable though, much more comfortable than Derek’s spot in the kitchen, which has started to hurt his back lately.

The cave is warm as well, even though the night is chilly, and Derek lets out a shuddering breath, accepting the wolf’s embrace when Stiles curls himself around Derek, warming him further with his entire body.

Stiles is naked, as per usual, and his body heat is like a furnace, making Derek feel sleepy and drowsy in his exhaustion.

Derek falls asleep within minutes, doesn’t wake up until the sun is already high up in the sky.

He groans, realizing that he’s stayed away for too long and that his absence has probably been noticed.

He blinks, sitting up with a little grunt, only to come face to face with a roasted rabbit.

Derek has no idea how Stiles managed to prepare the animal without him noticing but he accepts the offering with a grateful smile, rubbing his belly when it grumbles in anticipation.

Stiles looks adorably pleased as he watches Derek devour the rabbit, but his pleased expression turns to a worried frown when Derek gets up and motions toward the cave entrance.

“I have to go. They’ll be looking for me,” he explains, pressing a kiss against the wolf’s forehead when he won’t stop growling.

Stiles accompanies him almost to the edge of town, his expression getting stormier with each step that takes them further away from the den.

When the wolf has retreated back into the shadows Derek picks up his pace, hoping to enter the village undetected.

He fails.

 

===================

 

 

Going to see the wolf becomes increasingly difficult.

Ever since she saw him walk back into town after a night obviously spent in the woods, Kate Argent has been watching him like a hawk, her cold eyes glittering maliciously whenever Derek crosses her path.

She no longer tries to touch him, no longer whispers sweet lies into his ear, but she’s watching him always, her eyes gleaming with suspicion and sadistic glee, as if she’s hoping to catch him doing something that needs to be punished.

Peter mistakes her heightened interest for passionate desire and starts to pressure Derek more on the subject of marriage, trying to make the match sound as appealing as possible.

When Derek resists, Peter changes tactics, tries to make Derek feel guilty for staying with him even though he’s a grown man now, for eating his food and refusing to live his own life.

When that fails, too, Peter becomes cruel, lays into him about how his mother and father would have expected him to settle down and have children, how he’s failing them by clinging to the past.

Derek stays silent during all of these conversations, swallowing down the hurt as best he can and letting it all out with Stiles later, on the rare occasions when he manages to sneak out of the village now.

As November nears its end, the long trek to the clearing becomes almost as difficult as sneaking away undetected, a change that Derek notices with a little bit of concern.

He’s always been a fast walker, always been good on his feet, but now his strides are slowing down, his gait not quite as light as it used to be.

His back hurts after these walks and his feet are achy and swollen, weighed down by the now quite noticeable bulk he’s carrying around.

Derek doesn’t quite understand why his belly is getting rounder seemingly each day, even though they’ve already started rationing the food and the first elderly villager has recently fallen victim to the cold.

He’s not complaining, per se, but his growing middle makes sleeping on the kitchen floor a very uncomfortable affair night after night.

Also, he’s always short of breath these days, the air in front of him turning to smoke in the icy cold of the forest as he huffs and puffs his way to his wolf.

Stiles has taken to meeting him closer and closer to the village, wrapping his arm around him and guiding him through the woods, almost as if he’s lifting Derek off the ground and carrying him for most of the way.

His wolf has always been tactile, but now Stiles is especially affectionate, nuzzling, kissing, licking, and touching.

He’s touching Derek everywhere, doesn’t leave an area neglected, but the lion’s share of his affection is devoted to Derek’s middle.

The wolf seems quite pleased with how round Derek has gotten this winter, licking broad strokes up and down Derek’s burgeoning exposed belly in the warm safety of his den and letting out little happy huffs and grunts.

 _He’s not quite innocent in all this_ , Derek thinks as he rubs his swollen abdomen, grinning when Stiles presents him with yet another chunk of roasted deer.

Stiles has been feeding him a steady diet of roasted deer, boar, and rabbit for weeks now, letting out whines of distress when Derek declines another portion and grinning through sharp fangs as he watches Derek swallow every last bite.

The kills are fresh and the meat tastes delicious, making Derek crave it with an almost embarrassing need.

He’s never been a big meat-eater, but now he can’t get enough, wondering if he’s turning into a carnivorous beast himself when his mouth waters at the smell of yet another roasted deer.

All things considered, the origins of his no longer quite as little potbelly aren’t that much of a mystery, after all.

It’s getting a bit heavy, sure, but it also feels good and right under his fingers, comforting him to the point that he wants to touch it always, almost as much as Stiles does.

His wolf is providing for him, making him feel warm and safe in these harsh and cold winter times, and Derek has never been more at peace.

 

 

=================

 

 

Two weeks later, Derek’s peace comes to an abrupt and traumatizing end.

It’s the full moon, the one night of the month during which Derek avoids the woods on purpose, all too aware that for as much as his wolf cares about him, his urges might be too strong to control.

He’s curled up on his pile of rags in the kitchen and trying to get comfortable when a pain unlike anything he’s ever felt suddenly shoots through his belly, making him double over in agony.

The pain doesn’t stop, a full onslaught on his organs that keeps getting worse, a feeling like he’s being mangled from the inside, as if there’s something in his stomach violently trying to punch through his skin.

He cries out with yet another powerful burst of pain, presses both hands on his belly and lets out a terrified whimper when he’s suddenly cupping a bulge in his hands, a moving bulge that seems to press into his hands, seeking out contact.

Derek stares at it with wide eyes, hurting and afraid, and he can’t help but cry out again, panic making him dizzy and nauseous.

His cries have alerted Peter and Derek tries to get away from his uncle’s cold touch when he pries Derek’s hands off his stomach, suddenly feeling the insane urge to protect the source of the pain from strangers’ eyes.

“What the hell?” Peter gasps, staring at the moving bulges that are now protruding from Derek’s swollen belly on both sides, his eyes widening in horror and disbelief.

“What _is_ this?” Peter demands, scrambling away from Derek as if he was contagious, but Derek can’t answer him, doesn’t know the answer himself.

“I’m going to get Deaton!” Peter exclaims, running out of the kitchen like he’s being chased by a demon.

He might as well be, Derek certainly isn’t going to discount the possibility of demonic possession when his belly bulges out farther than ever and he’s lifted off the ground with the force of it, arching his back and screaming.

Peter returns after what seems like an eternity, bringing with him Deaton, the town physician, as well as Kate and Gerard Argent.

At the sight of Kate, Derek tries to cover himself out of instinct, but Deaton removes his hands with no effort, his fingers examining and prodding, following the moving bulges inside Derek’s belly and pushing against them.

“What the …” Gerard exclaims in a deep voice, more a growl than human speech.

“Is he …” Kate gasps, her mouth snapping shut and her lips morphing into a thin line of disgust.

“He is,” Deaton confirms after a long pause, making a grab for his bag and digging around in it.

He pulls out a purple powder, dips his finger inside and then grabs Derek’s face and presses his fingertip against the young man’s mouth, urging him to swallow.

Derek doesn’t want to, the smell making him nauseous, but Deaton simply pinches his nose shut, waits until Derek is forced to open his mouth in a gasp.

The agonizing movement inside Derek’s belly stops almost instantly and Derek collapses back onto the ground with a shudder, squeezing his eyes shut and taking heaving gulps of air.

When he opens his eyes again, four people are staring at his distended belly, their expressions conveying horror, fear, anger, and disgust.

“ _Wolf!”_ Kate snarls and Deaton nods, dusting the rest of the powder off his fingers.

“There are few creatures known to possess the power to impregnate a human male. His response to the wolfsbane confirms the nature of the offspring without a shadow of doubt,” Deaton says, his voice calm and his eyes gleaming with resolve.

“I knew he was rotten!” Gerard growls at his daughter, his gaze on Derek filled with revulsion as he crouches down, places a rough hand on Derek’s exposed belly that the young man is yet too weak to shake off.

“How long have you been seeking out this demon, boy?” he demands with a growl, curling his hand so that his nails are digging painfully into Derek’s swollen skin.

“Months!” Kate exclaims, her voice shrill and full of hatred.

“Six months, at least,” Deaton offers, kneeling down next to Gerard.

“It is common for wolf offspring to go through their first full moon shift inside their mother’s womb at about six months gestation. The cubs will grow much quicker now and he’ll continue to endure unspeakable pain during the three days of the full moon, until they’re big enough to slice their way right out of his stomach, which will probably kill him.”

“ _What_?” Derek gasps, trying to sit up, his head rearing back and the taste of blood exploding in his mouth when Kate slaps him hard across the face.

“Silence!” she hisses and Derek lets out a terrified whimper when he sees her hand creeping towards the dagger she carries at her side, her fingers already curling around the grip.

“I say cut them out right now! Why wait until they’re strong enough to claw their way outside, let’s end this now, while they’re weakened by the wolfsbane!”

“He’ll die,” Deaton cautions, his calm voice offering no hint of remorse.

“Let him!” Gerard barks, spitting on Derek’s belly and then fixing him with a truly maniacal glare.

“He’s been having relations with a _wolf_ for months! A _male_ wolf, too, that belly isn’t lying! He has betrayed the Lord, our village, and everything we stand for, has brought us into harm’s way and exposed us to a demon! I say we burn him at the stake! Him and the filthy abominations he carries inside of him!”

“ _NO_!” Derek roars, launching himself forward with the intent to run.

He hasn’t quite wrapped his mind around it yet, his blood rushing in his ears and his gut tight with panic, but he knows he has to run, to flee, to protect what belongs to him and _Stiles_.  

The wolfsbane has made him nauseous and dizzy, though, and he topples to the ground before he can get far, his head colliding with the granite floor with a painful thud.

There’s blood running down his forehead and into his right eye, making him even more disoriented, so when the hands come and drag him away he can barely put up a fight.

He is thrown on the ground a while later, the breath punching out of him with the impact, and it takes him a while to realize that he’s been taken to the town hall, a large barn they normally use for village meetings and weddings.

They’ve stripped him at some point, leaving him bare and completely exposed, and there’s a circle of ash surrounding him.

There are no bars to hold him, no guards to ensure he’ll stay, but the closer he crawls to the ashes the sicker he feels, until he almost has to throw up.

His belly twists in agony when he touches the ashes with a fingertip and he flings himself backwards, noticing that the horrible pain in his middle goes away immediately.

He’s trapped, he realizes, the ashes somehow affecting the unspeakable that appears to be growing and thriving within him.

Dejected, he curls up around himself as best he can, shivering when the cold starts to seep into his bones

He places both hands on his belly, rubbing a soothing circle to keep it warm, and there’s a weak kick from inside, a feeling of affection and fear coursing through every cell of his body.

 _This is impossible,_ he thinks, another series of weak kicks proving his thoughts a lie right after.

 _Why is this happening to me,_ he wants to yell at the universe, his eyes brimming with tears as he stares down at his protruding middle, having unknowingly grown a life he never knew was possible.

Except he knows exactly why, his cheeks clenching even now as he recalls the feeling of Stiles’ wolf cock knotted deep inside of him.

The children growing inside of him are wrong, an abomination, born of wolf and man, a treason against the Lord and his people.

Surely, Derek has committed an unforgiveable sin, but he isn’t even all that startled to realize that he doesn’t care.

He feels no loyalty to the villagers, who have treated him like a pariah ever since almost his entire family died.

They have avoided him as if he was the very angel of death himself, carrying despair and destruction wherever he went.

They think him broken, tainted, touched by fate in the most cruel way, their superstitious minds closed to that which mustn’t be.

Derek is no fool.

He knows they consider him weak and worthless and he’s certain that it’s the only reason that a woman like Kate Argent pursued him.

They view him as nothing more than a broken soul trapped in a young, attractive, and healthy body, a body to use and discard for selfish pleasure, without ever having to worry about the man inside it putting up a fight.

No.

Derek does not feel beholden to any of them.

Least of all his uncle, who’s let him sleep next to the stove like a dog for five years and has gone out of his way to show him that he’d rather Derek had died in the fire with the rest of his family.

No.

Derek feels no remorse for choosing the wolf over his own kind.

His children, though.

His _children_.

Yes.

Derek realizes that he _loves_ his children, his cubs, the precious fruit of the love between a boy and his wolf.

He would allow the villagers to kill him gladly if it only meant his babies could live, if he knew for sure they’d grow up to be strong and powerful, happy and healthy.

It all makes sense to him now and his heart thuds against his ribcage like it’s trying to explode out of love for his wolf, his _Stiles_ , who’s clearly known about them from the beginning and who has been taking such gentle care of Derek _and_ their cubs ever since.

Yes, it definitely makes sense now, from the wolf’s guilty tears to the softest of touches caressing Derek’s growing belly, a possessive tongue lapping all over the tight, swollen skin and marking him and their cubs as the wolf’s.

He doesn’t understand how it happened, doesn’t think it matters much, anyway.

All he knows is that he’s carrying his wolf’s children and that their cubs are in mortal danger, lest his wolf come to their rescue.

He doesn’t think, doesn’t allow himself to hesitate.

He throws his head back and _howls_ , howls for his and their children’s lives.

_Come! Come quick! Save us!_

He howls and howls and howls, until the doors of the town hall open, followed by quick footsteps and then a fist punching into the side of his face, making everything go black.

 

 

==================

 

 

Derek spends two nights and three days in the town hall, starving and freezing, a display of shame for the entire village.

They’ve gagged him so he can’t howl any more, bound his hands behind his back and made it almost impossible for him to move around, weighed down by a belly that seems much bigger than before the full moon.

He doesn’t know how many cubs he’s carrying for his beloved wolf, but he’s almost sure it’s more than two, his belly heavy and pinning him to the ground, aching with hunger and making him fear for his precious children.

The villagers come in groups or one by one, staring at him, pointing at him, spitting at him, and taunting him.

Women faint and men cover their children’s faces, revulsion and hatred etched into everyone’s features when they can’t take their eyes off his stomach, the very evidence of his unholy transgression.

Peter doesn’t come to see him once and Derek is glad for small favors, not sure he could stand coming face to face with the only family he’s got left, a man who willingly threw him to the wolves.

 _The villagers are the real monsters_ , he thinks darkly, squeezing his eyes shut as one after one circles his ashy prison, not giving them the satisfaction of seeing his fear.

He doesn’t want them to misunderstand, doesn’t want them to think he’s afraid for his own life.

Because he’s not, not really, even though his heart is heavy with the knowledge that he won’t see his family on the other side after all, not after having been excommunicated by the village priest and having been condemned to the fires of hell.

He’s beyond terrified for his children though, his precious cubs, and he doesn’t even dare to think of Stiles, his dearly beloved wolf.

He knows the Argents and their henchmen have been trying to hunt him down, roaming the entire forest and leaving no stone unturned in their search for the beast that has so unforgivably corrupted one of the very people they have sworn to protect.

Derek holds his breath on both nights and he’s only able to breathe a little easier whenever Kate Argent steps into the town hall, her furious expression letting him know they still haven’t found the wolf.

They don’t dare to search for Stiles at night, not during the full moon, when the wolf is at his strongest.

Derek knows that it’s the only reason why he’s still alive, why they haven’t yet bound him to the stake and burned him alive, why they have to wait until the full moon has passed.

They’re afraid of the wolf, of what he might do to them were he to hear the death cries of his mate, his retribution fuelled by the power of the moon.

 _They **should** be afraid, _Derek thinks darkly, his lips cracking into a smile when Kate throws her insults at him, his unwillingness to be intimidated enraging her even further.

They break the mountain ash circle on the third night, the first night after the full moon.

Derek makes an attempt to break free off their hold but it’s no use, his body severely weakened after three days with no food and barely any drink.

The Argents drag him through the village naked as the day he was born, the gravel digging painfully into his belly, hanging low and heavy from his emaciated waist.

The entire town has come out to see him burn and he’s dragged through the crowds, drowning in the chorus of their cheers and exclamations of disgust.

They spit at him, throw stones at him, one hitting his temple and making him see stars.

The blood is still running down his face when they drag him up on the pyre, roughly push him against the stake and bind him, the rope digging painfully into his belly and the children inside kicking in a frantic panic.

 _I love you,_ Derek thinks, doesn’t want to say it out loud because the villagers don’t deserve to hear it.

 _I love you,_ he thinks, closing his eyes and thinking of his wolf.

The Argents speak, then the priest speaks, but Derek isn’t listening to them at all, his eyes closed and his smile soft as he thinks about everything the wolf has given him and more.

They start the fire, its crackling almost drowned out by the cheering crowd, their faces illuminated by the flames and appearing near demonic in their ecstatic revulsion, their desire to see him die a brutal death.

The flames go higher, smoke billowing in front of Derek’s eyes.

It’s getting harder to breathe, his lungs hurting and his belly churning, and when the darkness comes Derek allows it, his head dropping down, his fate accepted.

In the distance, a wolf begins to howl, and Derek smiles, sure he’s imagining the terrifying roar that’s coming closer and closer, getting so loud that Derek’s body is vibrating with it.

“Stiles,” he whispers, his final word before the smoke chokes him and everything goes black.

 

==============

 

 

Darkness

Pain.

Darkness.

A gentle hand, the press of a bottle against his lips.

More darkness.

A soft whimper, a careful caress of his temple.

Two strong hands, framing his belly protectively, shielding it from all that’s bad.

Light, caressing Derek’s face, warming him from the inside out.

Soft lips on his forehead, the familiar presses of fangs making him feel safe and grounded.

A stew of some kind, fed to him spoonful by spoonful, that gentle hand never leaving his stomach as he swallows, takes in the nourishment his poor, vulnerable belly so desperately needs.

Red eyes, filled with more emotion than Derek’s tired mind can parse out.

Safe.

Derek is _safe_.

He sleeps.

 

 

=================

 

 

The wolf’s expression doesn’t change when Derek asks what happened.

In fact, he pretty much ignores the question, huffing and puffing darkly whenever Derek brings it up.  

His eyes on Derek are filled with affection and love as always, though, not the slightest hint of remorse detectable whenever he huffs dismissively.

Usually, he punctuates his disregard of the village’s fate by bending down to place soft kisses on Derek’s bulging belly, bigger and rounder than ever because their cubs are alive and well, growing and thriving inside of him.

It doesn’t take long until Derek stops asking.

After all, it doesn’t really matter.

He’s never going to go back to his village.

He doesn’t need to know if there’s even a village left to return to.

 

 

=============

 

 

Winter rages on and Derek recovers, eats, sleeps, and snuggles with his wolf, hidden away safely deep inside their den.

Outside, he can hear the harsh gusts of freezing winds, but the cold doesn’t reach him down here, held tightly in Stiles’ warm embrace.

Days and nights blend together and Derek has no way of knowing how long he’s been here, is only aware of the passage of time because his belly grows larger and larger, until it’s so big he can barely move on his own, filled to the bursting with the new life that he and Stiles created.

A full moon comes and goes, then another, but Stiles stays right there with him, his gentle hands never leaving Derek’s stomach and calming the shifting cubs inside.

It’s not comfortable by any means, but it’s nowhere near as painful as that first full moon, and Derek holds on to Stiles’ hands tightly during these nights, allows his mate to anchor him through the storm that’s brewing deep inside.

When Derek wakes up on the morning of the third full moon since Stiles rescued him from a most gruesome death, he can hear the birds chirp outside and knows that the flowers are probably waking up from their long sleep, that the days are going to get warmer from here on out.

 _That’s good,_ he thinks, cradling the sides of his now impossibly swollen belly and imagining his cubs crawling over green grass and in between blooming flowers, the warm sunlight protecting their tiny bodies from the cold.

They’re ready now, Derek can feel it all the way down to his bones, and he spends the day in joyful anticipation, happily accepting Stiles’ sweet kisses and little scraps of meat whenever he can stomach them, his belly so full that there’s barely room for nourishment left.

He should be nervous, probably, given Deaton’s dire predictions about how he’ll birth his children, but Stiles’ hands on him are steady and his smile warm and excited, nothing that would hint at Derek’s violent death being imminent.

He trusts Stiles on this, trusts him so much more than Deaton; trusts him with his life and that of their cubs.

When the pains begin at nightfall, Derek breathes through them, slowly and steadily, holding on to Stiles’ hands with all his strength as contraction after contraction courses through his body.

There are no tiny claws tearing through the overstretched skin of his stomach, but Derek feels himself tear somewhere deep down between his legs, overcome with the urge to push and giving in to his instincts.

The cubs slip out of him one by one, guided into the world by the hands of their werewolf father, whose eyes are sparkling with tears and glowing very red, redder than Derek has ever seen them.

When it’s finally over, Stiles throws his head back and howls, a mighty howl that Derek imagines resonating all through the forest and beyond.

A warning to _stay away_ , leave us _alone_ , don’t come closer or else you’ll _regret_ it.

Derek’s belly feels weirdly empty and he lets out a soft whimper of distress, but Stiles is there immediately, gently lifting the cubs onto Derek’s stomach one after the other.

There are seven of them in total, four girls and three boys, and they’re absolute perfection, the most gorgeous creations of nature that Derek has ever laid eyes on.

Their little mouths suckle instinctively and Derek panics for a blessedly short moment, worrying how they’re supposed to feed these children.

Again, Stiles knows just what to do, guides the upper two cubs to Derek’s nipples and smiles proudly when they latch on immediately.

Suckling sounds fill the den and Derek stares at his chest in wonder, thinking he should probably be surprised.

He chuckles, then, because nothing is going to surprise him ever again.

The cubs feed one after the other, until their little bellies are warm and full, their closed eyes twitching as they drift off to sleep, safely cradled in Derek’s embrace.

“What should we name them?” Derek asks, his voice hoarse and full of emotion.

He’s not expecting an answer, has long stopped hoping that Stiles will ever regain his voice.

After all, Derek is the first person who understands that the pain of one’s past sometimes leaves an ever-lasting mark and he’s not going to blame Stiles for his silence.

He doesn’t expect an answer, which is why he’s absolutely shocked when Stiles points at their first-born girl, opens his mouth, and clears his throat.

“Claudia.”

His voice is rough, garbled, the word more a growl than a name, but Derek lets out a delighted sob nevertheless.

Stiles ducks his head with a shy smile and Derek is overcome with love and pride for his beautiful, strong mate, his heart overflowing with happiness over hearing his wolf’s voice for the very first time.

Stiles clears his throat again, pointing at their first-born boy.

“Jo… John.”

There’s love, longing, and pain in his words, a long story behind these names that Derek knows will be both painful and bittersweet to hear.

“Claudia and John,” he agrees, tracing his finger over each newly christened cub.

“Talia for this one,” he says softly, drinking in the sight of his third-born cub, who reminds him so much of his beloved mother.

“Tha… that’s a beau… beautiful name,” Stiles croaks, the words still sounding rough and garbled through his fangs.

Derek smiles, moving his attention to his second boy, nestled in between his sisters.

“Sebastian. After my father,” he decides and Stiles nods, cups the baby’s head with a gentle hand.

“Laura and Cora,” Derek continues, nodding towards his two identical looking girls, snuggled against each other and sleeping softly and soundly.

That only leaves their littlest one, a beautiful boy with dark brown hair who is snuffling contentedly, not quite yet asleep.

Stiles takes his time and Derek waits patiently, holding out a hand and grasping Stiles’ fingers tightly, feeling that his mate needs comfort.

Stiles’ face tells the story of crippling guilt and agony, but there’s also desperate love in his gaze, a plea to make amends for an unspeakable tragedy.

Derek waits, lightly caressing his wolf’s knuckles, and it takes Stiles three tries to share their final child’s name, his voice shaking when he finally gets it out.

“Sc … Sco …. _Scott_!”

“Scott,” Derek agrees warmly, watching Stiles cradle the boy and cuddle him close to his chest, his eyes closing as he inhales the cub’s scent.

Derek’s breath catches in his throat when Stiles opens his eyes again and hazel-green meets whiskey amber, the most beautiful color Derek has ever see.

“Hey!” Derek whispers and Stiles smiles through his tears, his teeth even and blunt and his forehead smooth.

“Hey,” he replies, his voice rich, deep, and already Derek’s favorite addiction.

One night, at some point in the future, Derek knows that Stiles will use his voice to tell him about the night that changed his life forever.

The horrible night that left him broken and alone, living like a monster because that was all he could see in the reflection of his fellow men’s eyes.

Living like a monster because that was all he could see in _himself_ , his inside and outside distorted and twisted, mangled by guilt so devastating that Derek can’t even begin to comprehend it.

Tonight, however, their lives have been changed for the infinitely better, their perfect little cubs making them a real pack.

They’re tiny, still, so tiny that they won’t leave the safety of the den and the protection of Derek’s embrace for quite some time.

When they do, though, Derek knows they’ll be a force of nature, beautiful, strong, and fearless.

The first time Derek saw his wolf, he was more than ready to die at the beast’s hands.

Now though, with his pack snuggled into the warmth of his belly and his wolf keeping him safe and close, Derek feels exhilaratingly alive.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos are very much appreciated!


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